What's Up, Doc?
by desina
Summary: Follow-on to Autumn Rayne's follow-on to my follow-on to her follow-on to Ripple of Hope.


**a/n:** Follow-on to Autumn Rayne's follow-on to my follow-on to her follow-on to Ripple of Hope.

Previously:  
1. I Don't Have To Do Anything  
2. Forgetting Something  
3. Tumble Lightly, Dear House of Cards

...and now this.

**What's Up, Doc?**

_"Ben?" I turn towards the opening of the hallway, my jaw dropping and my mouth going dry. Kate makes her way to the sofa, legs bare from mid-thigh down, the rest of her body covered in an old black and silver Raider's jersey. Though its dimensions are over-sized for her smaller frame, the cloth hangs fittingly over her shoulders and across her chest. My eyes fall to her bare feet and I think her black pumps would complete this look quite nicely. At least until I'm able to find that bottle of peppermint massage oil. There are so many ways this woman could kill me, and I would lay back, willingly accepting any punishment she saw fit to deliver. I lift my eyes to hers as she sits next to me. She's been talking to me and, for the second time tonight, I haven't heard a word spoken. She stops and tilts her head slightly to the side. "Are you all right?" she asks._

_"I'm fine," I answer quietly._

_"Okay." Kate smiles softly and leans her hands on the portion of cushion between us. "Anyway, thank you." She shifts forward and places a gentle kiss on my cheek. One small movement on my part, and I can claim her lips with my own. Again. I want to. So badly, I want to. But as I turn my head, as I feel our mouths brush ever so delicately, hear the soft intake of breath from Kate, I stand and move to the far side of the room._

"Do you have any DVDs?" Kate asks me, but I'm still a bit gobsmacked by the kiss on the cheek. The whole night, really. Here she is in my living room. I know what I want to do, but what I have zero clue about is what I _should_ do. And by should do, I mean whatever won't drive her away. Whatever won't make this seem weird right now, much less tomorrow morning. Okay, whatever won't make this seem _weirder_.

I'm just really thankful she picked a Raiders shirt and not, say, one of my college shirts. At least it won't make every trip to the alumni association physically painful every time I see someone else wearing the same shirt and am reminded of her.

"Huh?" Yeah, articulate litigator. That's me.

"Movies. I'm not ready to sleep, and I haven't seen a movie in ages. Not since..." She stops speaking before uttering the unsaid word, but I know what it is. Who he is. Justin.

"Oh, I have plenty." I motion to the built-in cabinet on the other wall. "Whatever you'd like to watch, Katie." I figure she's just being nice, she wants to unwind by herself.

She walks over and opens the built-in doors, staring in.

"Would you like popcorn?" I ask, trying to find something to do so I'm not tempted to hover.

"Please. With butter. Also, tequila." She looks at me. "If you have any."

"Of course I do." I fetch the Spring Hill local organic Jersey butter and the cast iron skillet along with the local popcorn and start heating the pan. She's looking at my favorite shelf, and I can't help but watch anxiously.

Carol, she'd never understood how I organized movies. She wanted all the comedies together and the drama together and everything had to be in one neat solitary category and all alphabetized. Some of my category organizations were alphabetic, some were thematic, some were chronological. This drove Carol mad and led to one of our biggest fights ever, the last fight before she cheated on me. Let's be honest, that's not why she cheated on me. I'm impossible. But it was the proverbial straw.

I still remember the way she curled her dark blonde hair around her ear as if that would make what she heard out of my mouth make more sense. The tightness between her brows. The way she pointed her finger at me and hurled invectives. At the time, I'd come to believe I deserved some of those, but I've since had time to reflect. No, Carol was not the woman for me. I was just slow to see that.

She blamed my odd sorting habit on my dyslexia. Blamed it on my inability to commit. But, really, I didn't think there was One True Universal Way of organizing videos. It's a good thing we hadn't been lawyers sharing a legal library or the litigation might still be ongoing, assuming we could find anything.

Kate tilts her head in curiosity. A few moments later, the puzzled expression softens into an oh of surprise, then transitions into a smile. "Films about San Francisco in date order?" she asks.

I grin.

Hell, who am I kidding? I'm tempted to ask her to marry me on the spot.

"Exactly so," I say. "Got a favorite?"

She pulls one out, and holds it up for me to see. "Excellent choice. I'll have the popcorn for you in a minute."

As she models the DVD case, I'm struck by how long her legs are. I'm used to thinking of her as short, but for a short person, she sure has legs that won't quit. Her bare feet remind me that I'd love to massage them, and I sigh.

"And the tequila," she reminds me.

"And the tequila."

Sudden movements make me realize she's not wearing a bra. I gulp. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how am I ever supposed to survive this night that I created? She may kill me tonight, but at least I'll die happy.

I bring out the popcorn first, along with napkins and bowls for each of us. "Just a minute, I'm going to change, then I'll get the tequila," I say.

After closing the bedroom door, I flip on the light. She's tossed her clothing onto my bed, lacy black bra on top of her other clothes. All I can hear is the rapid thud of my heart. I'm now half-convinced she actually has my demise planned to the hour and minute, but then my grandfather actually believed in fairies.

I moan softly, stripping painfully out of my suit slacks, finally able to comfortably bend over for the first time in almost an hour. I pull my USF sweatpants and a matching t-shirt out of drawers. I notice something fall; the button that Kate pulled off earlier. I pull a safety pin out of the sewing kit in my top drawer and pin the wayward button to the shirt, then hang it where I put clothing to repair.

I'm not ready to open the door. I'll never be ready, but she wants to watch a movie, and I hope she means with me, not just at my place. The longer I take, the less willing she'll be to watch with me. As an afterthought, I cross to the nightstand and search through the little bottles until I find the peppermint massage oil that my friendly purveyor of massage oils insists is the best blend she has for feet.

She's curled up in the exact middle of the couch, toes hanging over the edge, blanket pulled to add modesty not normally available in a t-shirt and panties in such a pose. Well, I assume she's still wearing panties. I hope she is. I suppress a moan at the thought of her wearing only my well-worn t-shirt. I suddenly can't focus on anything.

Kate looks up at me expectantly, her mouth a small o of surprise.

Tequila. Right. I point my index finger as though I've just remembered. Which is true.

I clang around in the liquor cabinet until I find the one bottle of tequila: the hideously expensive and as-yet-unopened Dos Lunas Grand Reserve, then fetch two appropriate glasses. Crystal, of course, because my father would murder me if he knew I was serving hard liquor in anything but. Irish pride, thus Waterford crystal, and the real stuff, not the stuff made outside of Ireland. And the tequila, well, that's from Texas, not Mexico, but it's worth it.

Meanwhile, my mouth is going oh so dry just thinking about her, thinking about how lonely I've been without curvaceous company in my living room, even for an evening, since I've been at the firm. Frankly, I can't remember the last woman I had over. Could it really have been that long?

She moves the blanket out of my way and I settle down on her right as she dangles her legs over the side, putting a small bowl of popcorn on her lap. "This is really great popcorn, Ben."

I smile at her. "I'm not going to say it this time." I do like nice things and she knows that. I open the tequila and pour some for her first, waiting for her gesture to stop pouring. A hair over a double for her, and I pour the same amount for myself.

"Cheers," I say, and our glasses clink with the bell-like sound of real crystal.

After her first sip, she said, "You like nice tequila." She tossed more popcorn into her mouth.

"I do." I took a sip and closed my eyes to fully enjoy the taste. I'd previously had a lesser bottle from the same company, but not one this rare. Or expensive.

"Justin said the bottle at the bar that night cost more than his suit."

Despite myself, I snorted. "That would explain a lot."

She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously, it wasn't that expensive a bottle and we only had half of it. It wasn't even the most expensive bottle in the place. Unless he gets his suits at-," I waved my hand to think, "-well, some bad suit place, then it's not true."

"Fair enough. It's an educated guess this one cost more than his suit, though."

"Most assuredly."

"And your suit?" She squirmed uncomfortably at the question, pushing her hair back with her thumb.

She wanted honesty, obviously. "I don't know exactly how much my suits cost because I typically buy more than one at a time and I buy custom-made shirts at the same time. I typically budget for the whole package, not each component part. But, it's an expensive bottle of tequila, I'll grant you, and it's probably somewhere close to the cost of one of my suits."

"You were saving it for a special occasion," she said, pressing the line of questioning.

"Hence it being unopened," I admitted.

"I don't think it's that special an occasion," she said in that way women said, "you're not getting any." Not that I thought I was, of course, I'm not that much of an idiot. I know a long game when I see one.

I sighed. How to explain without admitting? How to tell her that it's special enough because women never came over? Or the few women I've been with over the last three years were all one-night stands, and I really would rather curl up on the couch and watch a movie with someone special most nights? That I wanted the intimacy even though I wasn't all that great at it? Or that I just love her?

No, I'm definitely not admitting to that.

"Your company makes it special enough, Katie. Ready for the movie?"

She nods. Uncomfortable topic ended, shift to the not having awkward moments stage of the evening. I hit play, and the opening sounds of Barbra Streisand singing Cole Porter fill the room.

As the movie progresses, Katie relaxes slowly, smiling at the funny moments and lines. She occasionally silently mouths the lines, which makes me smile. I know the movie almost as well as she did.

Finally, she feels relaxed enough that she places her head at the opposite end of the couch and her calves across my lap. I smile, but inwardly I groan, because if she moves that right leg one more inch, she's going to discover what I've been a gentleman about, and I'd rather she not.

"Foot rub?" I ask after she's relaxed a bit in her new position. I've almost held or rubbed her feet three times since she's put them in temptation's way.

"Sure," she says, and I reach for the bottle of massage oil.

She looks at the bottle, then pauses the movie.

"You didn't have to pause it."

"Yes I did," she says quickly.

I shake my head no.

"Yes. I did," she says, much more slowly.

"Why?"

She raises an eyebrow. "Because you're going to take your shirt off and I'm going to watch."

I'm amused enough at this turn of events that I raise an eyebrow, stare her down for a moment as though I'm objecting, then I slowly peel off my shirt for her benefit, remembering to ripple all the muscle groups.

"Nice," she says approvingly. "Now turn toward me."

I slide my left knee onto the couch, slipping my left leg underneath both of hers, and turn so my head's facing hers, my right foot on the floor.

Kate placed her feet on my chest. "_Now_ you can rub them."

I smile, put a few drops of peppermint massage oil on my hands, and take her left foot in my hand. She unpauses the movie, but that's the last moment we watch it intently. Instead, she's too busy sighing and moaning from my ministrations to seriously follow the film. Not that either of us need to; clearly we've both seen the movie a few dozen times over the years.

As I'm gently working a knot out of her right foot, I notice that she's absentmindedly massaging her lower lip with her index finger, aroused to the point of distraction. I suppress a smile. Perhaps she's as far gone as I am right now. No, that's just wishful thinking, I'm afraid.

A few minutes after I'm done, she directs me to turn back to my original sitting position. After I do so, she moves the pillow onto my lap and turns around, putting her hand underneath the pillow, resting it on my thigh. I let out a small sigh and straighten the blanket with my left hand.

By the time the VW Bug fails to make the Sausalito ferry and dives into the San Francisco Bay, she's sound asleep. I place my hand gently on her shoulder and lean back, wondering how I'm going to sleep in this position. She's shown me unusual trust this evening, and I don't want to mess it up.

In the final courtroom scene, where the poor judge is trying to make sense of everything and Barbra Streisand's character Judy is at the center of all the chaos, I smile. No wonder she loves this movie so much. In so many ways, she is Judy Maxwell.

I smile at the famed line, "Hello, Daddy." I wish I'd been able to meet Kate's father, though he likely wouldn't have approved of me. All I can do is be here with her now if she'll let me. Tonight, she's apparently letting me.

I turn the TV off and settle as much as I can for what will undoubtedly be a long night where Kate will sleep just fine but I will not.


End file.
